


Why Are We Running

by talkingtothesky



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Crossover, M/M, Romance, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:31:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Ashes!Gene meet and fall in love on the Spanish coast in 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Are We Running

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rebelxxwaltz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelxxwaltz/gifts).



> Takes place in an AU whereby Sam is still a (slightly miserable) copper in 2006 but was never hit by a car, so he first meets Gene when he's on holiday in Spain. Gene canonically spent time there in the space between 2x08 and 3x01 of Ashes. Major spoilers for A2A 2x08.

  
_"So I tried the Costa Brava. D'you know, it was the best full English I've ever had. Then I thought, 'Why am I running? Gene Hunt doesn't run."'_   


(Gene in A2A 3x01)

\---

Mid afternoon at a table outside a beachside cafe in sunny Tossa de Mar, sipping at a beer, Sam Tyler was feeling sorry for himself. In the morning he'd tried to read, but found he couldn't concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time, then called his mum back at home to wish her Merry Christmas, but she'd sounded sad to be without him, which only made him feel guilty again. He'd picked at his breakfast, remembering Maya snapping at him for being so easily disappointed when it came to food, then when he finally ventured out, realised he'd missed the last tour of the historic castle for the day. He wandered around the markets for a while, browsing but not interacting. He'd already got a present for his mum, both a Christmas one and a holiday one, and he refused to get Maya anything. There didn't seem to be much point in shopping. He was finding being single again very boring. He probably shouldn't have come to somewhere like this if he didn't want to see happy couples everywhere, but too late now.

"Wow, look at that!" said a voice from behind him, breaking into Sam's reverie. Sam whipped his head around, but there was nobody there. He looked back at the table, saw his drink was gone and, looking up across the street, noticed there was a tall bloke in a suit striding away with it.

Sam grabbed his phone up from the table - odd not to steal that at the same time - and leapt to his feet. "Oi!" He ran after the man, who had just tossed Sam's empty glass into the sand, nonchalantly strolling away. When Sam caught up with him, he grabbed a fistful of his shirt and dragged him around. "What the hell did you do that for? Picked the wrong man to play for a fool, pal." He held up his warrant card. "I should arrest you for theft and littering." Sam had no jurisdiction here, of course, but maybe this guy didn't know that, and anyway he felt like saying it.

"Oh, hello." The man flashed him a very brief, very fake smile. "Noticed me did you? Sorry I swiped your drink, but you looked like you were away with the fairies and wouldn't miss it much."

Sam couldn't help overflowing with sarcasm in response, waving his hands in a sharp outwards gesture. "And how about, I don't know, _buying_ one for yourself? Did that occur to you?"

The man rolled his eyes, as though this was obvious. "Run out of money, haven't I."

"So get some more!" Sam looked around, expecting to spy a cash machine close by that he could point to, but there were none.

The man gave him an annoyed grunt and turned out his empty trouser pockets. 

Sam examined his crisp white shirt and well-tailored black trousers. They looked like they had been good quality once. "You don't exactly look poor."

"Believe it or not this is all I've got on me, rest I left at home."

"Which is where?"

"England."

"You've come all the way from England with only one set of clothes?"

"Hm. I had a big coat when I set off too but I lost that playing poker." He shrugged. 

Sam rubbed his forehead, confused. "Are you just pissing me about or what? Who _are_ you?"

Gene leant close to whisper in his ear "DCI Gene Hunt. And I'm on the run from the law meself, but don't shout it out."

"DCI as in...?" Sam tested him, in case he was a conman pretending to be a cop to get on Sam's good side.

Gene raised an eyebrow "Detective Chief Inspector, as you well know," he glanced at Sam's card "DCI Tyler." Then he pulled out his own badge, from his shirt pocket this time. It was a little more old-fashioned than Sam's, but real.

Sam stared from the badge to Gene's face and back again. "But... if you're a detective too, and that accent...why have I never met you before?" 

"I'm in charge of the Met. I moved down south few year ago."

"And then you suddenly decided to switch to a life of crime," Sam said flatly.

"No, but I may have...accidentally...shot my DI..." At Sam's horrified look he hastened to add "She's fine, she's in hospital recovering. But until she wakes up she can't vouch for me not meaning to kill her - we had a bit of a barney in the office beforehand, see. This bird had my DI hostage and I tried to free her, only she moved into me line of fire, and now everyone's talking like I planned it."

Sam was watching his eyes as he spoke, for signs that Gene was lying. He couldn't detect any. (And they were really, a tiny voice in the back of Sam's mind argued, very nice eyes.) He decided to go with it. "How long have you been on the run?"

"Three months."

Sam felt his jaw drop open. "Whoa. No wonder you're out of money."

"Yeah."

There was a brief quiet, in which they both watched the waves in the distance for a while. 

"Now that you've pried my life story from me, how about you?"

"I..." Sam said, wrong-footed. He ought to go back to his table, order another drink, leave Hunt on a caution and never see him again. But he didn't want to. "I'm...on holiday. I just got out of a long-term relationship, I fancied a break, and I needed to use up my days off before the new year, so...fairly boring, really. Nothing as interesting as...your situation." Sam tried not to blush. Was he really considering this man's life to be something glamorous?

"But you run your own department at thirty-six, that's nothing to be sniffed at."

"How do you know my age?" Sam snapped.

Gene looked a bit taken aback. "It... says your date of birth." Gene pointed at the ID in Sam's hand.

"Oh. Anyway, should really pick up that glass before it cuts some poor kid's foot." Sam tried to cover his embarrassment by changing the subject. He suspected he wasn't very convincing. 

Gene made a gesture with his arm. "Be my guest."

"You threw it!" Sam said, astonished at Gene's cheek. 

"It's your glass," Gene returned, and they argued back and forth like this for a while before Sam gave up and went to find a bin.

\---

After that they just kept walking along the beach. Sam couldn't believe his luck. Gene was annoying, and ridiculous, but he made Sam laugh and he was...handsome, in a rugged sort of way. So far from Sam's usual type it was absurd, but maybe that could be a good thing. He had come out here for a change from his routine, after all.

Gene was tugging on the sleeve of Sam's leather jacket. "That's a bit hot for this climate, isn't it? You're sweating."

"It's got pockets," Sam said defensively. He wore this whenever he wasn't in his work suit, it was a bit like a second skin. Sometimes he felt oddly naked without it.

"Those have pockets too." There was an amused look on Gene's face as he pointed at Sam's combat trousers, the kind with zips everywhere.

Sam sighed. "Alright, I'll take it off then." Gene watched him as he emptied his jacket pockets and rearranged the contents into the pockets of his trousers, then peeled the jacket off and tied it around his waist by the sleeves. "Happy now?"

Gene didn't reply. He was staring at Sam. Sam glanced down at himself. His t-shirt was sticking to him in patches, and his bare arms were indeed glistening with sweat, and Gene was gazing at them like...

Sam shivered, as the gentlest of sea breezes caught some of the moisture on his skin and cooled it.

Gene looked away.

\---

"So, it's Christmas day. What would you normally be doing, back home?"

Gene suddenly wobbled alarmingly on a bit of shifting sand in his heeled snakeskin boots (Sam had already teased him about _their_ impracticality, but it seemed no amount of gentle persuasion would convince Gene to take them off). Without giving it any thought whatsoever, Sam caught him with an arm around Gene's shoulders, nudged their sides together to keep him upright.

"Proper turkey roast, all the trimmings. Back when my old mum was still alive and before my missus left, anyway." Gene's stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. "Damn, it heard me mention food."

Sam snorted and patted the gentle curve of it, then quickly drew his hand away in self-astonishment when he realised what he was doing. He'd never felt this comfortable around anyone in his life before, let alone a stranger he'd just met.

"When was the last time you ate something?"

Gene went into deep thought. Eventually he came up with "...Pretzels?" Which wasn't even the answer to the question Sam had asked. 

"Right." Sam pulled on his arm. "Come on, we're going back to my hotel, get a proper meal down you." 

"You sure? Two hours ago I robbed your drink and you wanted to arrest me."

"I looked you up on my phone while you went to get ice cream. Your story checks out, Hunt, it's in the papers and everything."

\---

After a very satisfying meal in the hotel restaurant, which Sam put on his bill, they wandered out into the lobby. The cheery concierge on the desk called out "¡Buenas tardes!", eyes lighting up. Sam was about to respond politely in kind, but before he could the concierge exclaimed "Mister Hunt! How lovely to see you again!" 

Sam whirled around to glare at Gene. "What the...?"

Gene was looking sheepish. "Er. Hello, Luigi." He nudged Sam's back, hissed "Which way? We gotta go," out the corner of his mouth. Luigi came out from behind the desk and began welcoming Gene loudly and enthusiastically, as if they were old friends. Gene appeared to understand Luigi's incomprehensible babbling and reluctantly reciprocated, but he kicked Sam's ankle surreptitiously with the toe of a pointy boot.

Sam was back to being suspicious again. When they finally managed to get away, Gene jogging slightly along the corridor away from reception, Sam grabbed his arm and demanded to know "Have you been to this hotel before, then?" Despite his annoyed tone, Sam realised he was still leading Gene in the direction of his room, which...probably said a lot about Sam's priorities at the moment.

Gene frowned and shook his head. "Nah, he's someone I know from London. He shouldn't even _be_ here. Quick, I can hear him again!" Sam's fears weren't entirely allayed by this explanation. Even so, something about the urgent tone in Gene's voice (and the fact that Sam felt very uncomfortable around this Luigi for reasons he couldn't fathom) compelled him to keep up with Gene's jogging pace. As they rounded another corner, Sam heard Gene mutter to himself. "Wonder why he's in Spain instead of Italy?"

At one point they ran into a parked trolley, which caused a bit of a loud crash and prompted an irate cleaning lady to come out into the corridor raving in Spanish. They managed to sneak off without being spotted, and once out of earshot Sam whispered "Why are we running?", feeling like a naughty schoolboy and loving it. Gene just shushed him and pushed him forward, and at last they were on the right floor and outside Sam's door. Sam fumbled in his pockets for the swipe card. Finally he got the door open and they were inside.

\---

They collapsed, Gene in the chair and Sam on the bed, laughing helplessly and silently. "I think we lost them," Gene wheezed. This sent Sam into a fresh wave of exhilarated giggles, and he curled up on his side on the bed, beating the duvet with his fist. He had no idea why it was so funny.

When they finally calmed down, Sam slid off the bed, stood up and asked him "Is your life always like this?"

Gene wet his lips. "Like what?"

Sam undid his jacket from around his waist and hung it up in the wardrobe, not looking at Gene, searching for the words. "More...bonkers. Colourful."

"Don't tell me you're bored catching Manchester's crooks already? You've been in the job...?"

"Two years." Sam finished for him. "I've been a DCI for two years."

"You were promoted at _thirty-four_?" Gene sounded...impressed. "Bloody hell, Sam."

Sam turned and opened his mouth, with no idea of what he was going to say. But that was alright, because next moment Gene was out of his chair and kissing him. He tasted of the spicy sauce from the meal, and cigarettes, though Sam hadn't yet seen him smoke. He leaned into it, craning his neck up and going on tiptoe to try to close Gene's height advantage. Gene rested his hand in the small of Sam's back, steadying him. 

After some endless, blissful minutes, Sam pulled back to catch his breath, stroking Gene's slightly stubbled chin with his thumb. He felt like he was overflowing, with the simple, uncomplicated joy of knowing he was wanted. Gene had his eyes closed, tilting his head into Sam's gentle touch. Sam watched him for a moment, then kissed him again, tongue delving between Gene's parted lips, closing his eyes too. He blindly let his hands wander down Gene's chest, then reached under his untucked shirt, stroking the smooth skin of his belly.

In the meanwhile Gene's hand had also gone exploring, long fingers reaching under Sam's waistband and giving his arse a sharp squeeze. Sam gasped, his hips jolted forwards, and he considered it a small miracle that he understood Gene was talking to him. "Can I remove your precious pocketed kecks?" 

Sam recovered himself fast and sniggered. "Are you gonna take your boots off?"

"Nope. They remain on at all times," Gene murmured, amusement evident, right before he tongued the pulse point on Sam's neck. A delicious shiver shot down Sam's spine, and he tilted his head away to give Gene better access. 

Sam removed his hand from under Gene's shirt and went for his zip instead, at which point he felt the size of Gene's erection through cloth and suddenly found himself nervous. He didn't exactly have a wealth of experience, and wanted to convey that to Gene somehow. He tried to explain: "I don't really do this...I only had one girlfriend in the last five years and she dumped me and the last time I kissed a guy it was 1987..." Sam trailed off as he realised he sounded a bit pathetic.

Gene kissed the corner of his mouth, leant their foreheads together fondly. "Sam...somehow, christ knows why, I've got this image in my head of you as this incredibly successful jet-setting clever bloke, don't ruin it now."

Sam relaxed at the compliment, nerves fleeing as quickly as they arrived, and wound his arms tight around Gene's shoulders. "And you're exactly the kind of arrogant bastard I'd normally hate, throwing your weight around - "

He yelped as Gene picked him up at the waist, carried him a few paces and dropped him on his back on the bed, legs splayed wide.

"Like me throwing _your_ weight around though, don't ya?"

Sam laughed, and pulled Gene down to lie between his thighs. "How do you figure that?"

Gene leaned down and brought their mouths as close as they could be without touching. "Call it...instinct."

\---

At breakfast the next morning both of them sat with slightly smug smirks on their faces. Sam's appetite had increased dramatically since the previous morning - due to the fact he'd been getting plenty of exercise overnight - and he helped himself to heaped bowls of fruit and cereal. This was nothing to Gene, however. He went for the greasy option of eggs, beans and bacon, piling his plate so high Sam accused him of taking advantage of his good nature. Gene grunted in reply - his mouth was too full to speak. Regardless of Sam's teasing he appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself. 

Sam excused himself to go to the gents, throwing Gene a little wave as he went, swaggering away with all the confidence he'd been missing before they met.

When Sam returned, Gene's chair was empty. There was a paper napkin tucked under his plate, which had been written on. All it said was:

Thank you  
\- G

\---

Sam was back at work on the first Monday morning in the new year, his in-tray piled high. He resigned himself to ploughing through it, and tried to stop feeling so downhearted. He had at least bagged himself a bloody fantastic shag, which, Sam thought savagely, was probably more than Maya had managed, stuck here with her parents. 

But Sam knew deep down it was more than that. He'd only known Gene a few hours, and yet he'd trusted him, listened to his bizarre predicament...and now it felt like he'd lost his best friend. Why had he not asked Gene for his number, or given him his own? 

Right at the bottom of his in-tray, once he'd finished all his other paperwork, there was an envelope. Sam opened it carefully. The official letter inside was offering him a transfer, if he wanted it. The signature at the bottom was in the same handwriting as the thank-you note now neatly folded in Sam's wallet.

**Author's Note:**

> There are more explanatory notes on the paradoxical nature of this meeting on my LiveJournal [here](http://talkingtothesky.livejournal.com/374640.html). Take a look if you're interested in my headcanon and don't mind A2A 3x08 spoilers.


End file.
